


you wanna make me bad

by inkwells



Category: Baby Driver (2017), From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: F/M, the kate-as-baby au that no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26371186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwells/pseuds/inkwells
Summary: kate fuller loses everything. enter the gecko brothers.
Relationships: Kate Fuller/Richard Gecko
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	1. pay me back

**Author's Note:**

> this is something that's been in my drafts since baby driver first came out, and i felt like i just had to finally post it for someone else to see. i just loved putting kate and the geckos (and co) into the baby driver world, but never got around to completing what's running around in my head. do with this what you will!
> 
> few notes: kate is around 20 in this, so no underage stuff here. richie/kate is the main pairing but there's hints of other things.
> 
> title is taken from the song violence by grimes, which makes great background vibe music for this fic if you'd like a recommendation

She gets caught.

It’s inevitable; the city’s big, but not _that_ big, and Kate’s not being careful. Not as careful as she should be.

But had she known she was stealing from the Gecko brothers, she would’ve walked right on by their shiny little piece of metal. Instead, she spins it in donuts for twenty minutes before they catch her on the way out.

“How good d’ya drive?” the tall one says to her, gun in hand. He looks casual—shoulders low, eyebrows raised. Deceptive, considering he has her cornered up against the trunk of the car, his back-up pulling rank just a few steps behind.

When she says nothing, he makes some gesture with his hand, expecting her to speak. His height makes it annoyingly easy for him to stare her down. “You deaf or something?”

“No,” Kate says, eyeing the gun.

“So? You gonna answer the question?”

After a pause, she shrugs: “I drive pretty well.” One earbud dangles at her side.

The second brother steps forward, more gruff, his gaze calculating as he looks her up and down. Kate’s not sure what he sees—the girl who never missed church on Sunday; the daughter who left her whole family lying in a cemetery; the jailbait who just hotwired their Lamborghini as easily as putting the key in the engine herself.

“What’s your name?” the gruff one finally says, not kindly.

Somehow feeling like the world has fallen behind her heels, she tells him, “Baby.”

They don’t ask questions. And when they offer her the job, she doesn’t hesitate. Beats pizza delivery.

-

The brothers don’t adjust well to a third wheel, she figures.

Kate’s unbothered by how they turn their backs to her, whispering, or let unspoken glares finalize their decisions without cluing her in. She’s not looking to make friends. In fact, the only reason she sticks around is because they let her _drive_.

Not the half-assed stuff. They egg her on, whooping when she reaches 150 on the highway, smirking when a cop sets up chase. Maybe it’s stupid, and childish, but it feels like stretching her muscles for the first time in years.

And when the music settles under her skin, in the very marrow of her bones, everything comes together like puzzle pieces. Turn, brake, skid, fall back.

They never get caught.

-

Their first heist goes well. The second heist goes even better.

They get high on the satisfaction of winning, passing their shares between each other, drinking and letting Kate chase her vodka without insult.

She leans her head back and lets whatever’s on the radio relax her, soothe her, carry her out of the arms of adrenaline and guns and money falling to the floor. Sometimes, Kate’s just pretending to be this person—the getaway driver for the goddamn Gecko brothers, legs in a skirt and glossed up for the fun of it.

But some nights, when Kate Fuller seems buried a million miles away, Baby is the taste of orange juice and alcohol, the soundtrack pulsing beneath her skin, the brush of a fingertip against her midriff when one of the brothers leans in too close.

Baby is all she has when the sun goes away, leaving her to the ringing of her ears and the distant sound of metal crunching beneath worn boots. _Honey? Honey, are you okay? What happened here?_

Beside her, Richie gets her attention, says something that’s only funny because she’s drunk. She laughs for too long, her whole body burning with the weight of having nothing, and no one, and hoping it might stay that way for just a little while longer.

-

When the third job goes bad—like, Seth got shot, Richie lost his gun, half the money ended up in a muddy ditch—they decide to bring on some extra hands.

Vanessa seems decent enough. For a bank robber, or whatever. She doesn’t talk a lot, and when she does, it’s usually to fight with Seth over some small detail that Kate hadn’t even picked up in the first place.

But every time she looks at Kate, her gaze hardens, somehow—searching her the way Seth did on the day they met.

“What’s wrong with her?” Vanessa finally asks after a few weeks. Kate’s drumming her fingers on the table, keeping the beat easily. _Don’t fear the reaper, take my hand—_

“Nothing,” Richie says. He takes his gun apart to the same rhythm as her tapping fingers.

“She’s always listening to something,” Vanessa replies, eyebrow raised. “And she doesn’t say much.”

Seth huffs as he sits. “Just her way.”

A scoff. Kate stays silent.

Vanessa watches her, waiting for something, and rolls her eyes when she doesn't get it. Under her breath, she mutters, “Looks like she isn’t even old enough to _have_ a driver’s license.”

“Don’t underestimate her,” Richie says, hard, effectively ending the conversation.

Kate picks through her playlist for the job, pretending that the attention doesn’t unnerve her, just the tiniest bit.

-

But everything goes smoothly. Faster, actually, with Vanessa on the inside. They get the money almost _too_ quickly, Kate having to compensate as she spins the car out of harm’s way. She rewinds the song twice mid-chase before the beats finally match up.

That night, they celebrate lavishly, Vanessa ending up in Seth’s lap as champagne is spilled all over the living room table.

Kate doesn’t pay much attention to them. Instead, she peruses the Gecko space, undeniably intrigued. This is the first time she’s been invited into their house—an intimacy not lost on her—and she can’t help herself; she wants to know the Seth and Richie who are at once criminally brilliant and completely ridiculous. (Seriously. In one breath, she’ll watch them lay out a heist worthy of history books. In the next, they’ll be at each other’s throats, throwing kindergarten insults until someone finally stomps away.)

Kate had long come to the conclusion that they were geniuses with questionable methods. This, she could live with, because the Gecko brothers had always spoken her language: speed. Control. Loneliness. This was what all three of them knew intimately—the very reasons why they ever could work as a team.

So no, their effectiveness didn't surprise her. The Gecko brothers and their abilities were a legend all on its own. What shocked her most over the last few months was their lack of cruelty.

All her life, she’d heard that stealing from a Gecko was a death sentence in this city. Her father used to warn the youth groups about fifteen year old boys going on the dark side, never to be seen again. Even then, when Kate knew nothing of the world, she had enough common sense to be afraid.

But then Richie Gecko catches her in the driver’s seat of his car, and he doesn’t kill her. He gives her a job, instead, and pays her handsomely to do a fifth of the work. (Though she is damn fucking good at her job.) And it just doesn't make any damn sense.

Meticulously, Kate eyes a few innocuous-looking baby pictures on the wall. As she picks them apart, trying somehow to unravel the mystery of the Gecko brothers, loud footsteps ring from behind her.

“We were pretty cute, huh?” Richie says from next to her shoulder, note of real happiness lingering in his voice.

Kate simply nods without turning. She thinks so, too, but won't give him the satisfaction of saying it. The Geckos have too much ego as is.

Stepping into her line of vision, Richie eyes the pictures closely, as if studying himself.

“We were six in this one, I think. Just moved to the big city with ma and pa.” The tone of his voice turns bitter, just the slightest bit angry. Kate files that away for later.

When she says nothing, Richie turns his gaze to her, not a hint of anger leftover in his half-smile. “I always wonder what you’re thinking inside that head of yours, Baby.”

A little pleased to be thought of, Kate smiles, shrugs. “Not usually anything worth hearing.”

“Bullshit,” Richie says with a scoff. “I’ve seen you work. You’ve got some of the sharpest instincts I’ve ever seen. We’d probably be a lot less stupid if we heard what you had to say.”

Unused to the praise, she laughs a bit to herself, shaking her head. “You guys don’t need my help. I’m just here to drive.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

Then Richie’s looking down at her again, so intently that she can feel a hot blush working its way up her neck. It’s how he watched her the night they met.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Richie replies, still looking and looking.

She wonders what he could possibly think about when he stares at her like that. She wonders if this is what it feels like when she watches him—hot and claustrophobic. She’d never thought about it before, the feeling of being watched, since no one ever bothered to pay her attention. Invisibility suited a girl like Kate Fuller.

Kate suddenly realizes that they’ve moved closer together, the tips of her white keds touching the tips of his leather shoes. She startles, glances down at the _click_ their meeting makes, only to feel Richie’s hand on her arm. It’s all she can do to look back up at him, warmth touching her cheeks and chest and even the curve of her elbows.

“Who are you?” he asks, other hand resting at the curve of her hip. She shakes her head.

“You know me.”

“No,” Richie says. “No, I know _Baby_. I know the girl we picked off the side of the road with her ribs sticking out from underneath her shirt. I know the girl that's managed to out-stunt the entire Fast and Furious franchise without wrapping us around a tree. I know the girl that's saved our asses too many times to count. But that's it. ”

“That’s who I am,” Kate says. It's hard to breathe, suddenly.

Richie shakes his head. She's trying to remember how they got here. "Is it?" he asks her, like her answer is the most important thing he'll ever hear.

She almost tells him, then; almost pours out everything that's she sat on, let fester and grow and climb within her chest. His pupils are blown wide open, a cacophony of different emotions flitting across his face, and she can only blink. This close, with the mint of his breath on her face and his hands so warm against her, Kate can't do much of anything. Her hand moves to grip at the sleeve of his jacket, and he's even closer, then, tantalizing. She can't think. She's a mix of Baby and Kate Fuller and something else entirely.

It's so quick, the move from uncertainty to desire. Her eyes flicker over his face, pull up to those eyes that won't stop seeing, and Kate wants him to kiss her. She’d never thought it before; never imagined what it would be like for Richie to hold her, touch her, eat her alive. She can't stop thinking it now.

Something in him shifts, too, his mouth parted in a way that makes her hungry. They move together in the space between seconds, lips less than a hair's breadth away, before a loud crash echoes throughout the hallway.

“God _fucking_ dammit, Seth, that was expensive fucking champagne!”

“No shit, Vanessa, I'm the one who fucking bought it!”

Kate jerks away from Richie, the spell broken. All the heat from his body floods away as she stumbles back, and the humiliation kicks in easily, like a reflex. She doesn't look at him. Can't make herself.

 _Fuck_ , what was she thinking, trying to kiss her boss? One of two people who have all the power in the world to fuck her over and send her back to the streets. And not just that, but it's _Richie_. Two seconds alone with him in his house and she's acting like some flustered little schoolgirl. God, she’s an _idiot_.

“I—I’m sorry, Richie. That was…" She shakes her head. "I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything in time for her to hear. She’s already out of the room and heading back to Seth and Vanessa, who have either gone for each other’s throats or headed to the bedroom.

"You stupid fucking _douchebag_."

"You're the one who had your hands all over _me_."

Throats, then. At least for now.

Their screaming match is drowned out only by the ringing sound in Kate’s ears. Richie is somewhere behind her, too, calling for her, _Baby, wait up!_ but it's not him, it's— _Kate Fuller? I’m so sorry, honey. Your parents, your brother, God, they loved you so much._

She doesn’t bother saying goodbye when she breaks through the front door and jumps into Seth’s Cadillac, screeching down the length of the driveway. Richie will cover for her, she’s sure. He has to. Right now, she needs to bury Kate Fuller six feet back under and remind herself of who Baby is. Half-panicked, her foot inches down at the accelerator, highway entrance ramp speeding past in a dark blur.

With the windows down, her ears popping, and the speedometer chasing 100, she’s already halfway there.


	2. said i like it like that

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for some mentions of abuse/death in this chapter. all stuff from kate's background, but just wanted to give a heads up

“The fuck is wrong with you two?”

Kate manages not to flinch, but it’s a close thing. She’d been only half-listening to Seth’s profile about the new job, as per usual, but his shouting makes it impossible to ignore him. She even bothers to take out her left headphone.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Richie half-yells back. Vanessa, assuming this has nothing to do with her, doesn’t bother looking up from her own phone.

“You two,” Seth says. Pointedly, he waves his whiteboard marker between Kate and Richie, hitching his leg up on the chair in front of him.

“You’d have to be more specific.”

Richie sounds unbothered, but still, Kate can’t bring herself to look at him. A hot red's already begun creeping up the back of her neck.

Guiltily, Kate glances over at Seth and attempts a casual half-smile—something to pretend like she doesn’t know exactly what he’s getting at. Seth’s eyes only narrow in a way that Kate recognizes too well. He’s smelled blood in the water.

“Ever since the other night, you two have been jumping all over the place. Especially _you_ , princess."

Kate’s blush only intensifies. Fuck, she’s really an awful liar. Confession is imminent. Maybe if she just tells him now, he won’t lose his shit anymore than he usually does.

Leaning forward, Seth perks an eyebrow: "Now tell me. Is there something I need to know about?”

Just as she opens her mouth to spill it out, unable to stand the tension any longer, Richie cuts in easily: “You caught us. Our diabolical plan to murder you and take all your shit’s ruined now, I guess.”

Behind her, Vanessa snorts, while Seth rolls his eyes and straightens up.

“Fuck off, Richie.”

“You asked,” he says.

Seth shoves the marker in Richie’s face. “You know what, that would actually be fucking hilarious. I’d love to see you take over here. You’d shit the bed if you had to do my job for even _one_ day.”

“I already _do_ your job, dick.”

Conversation effectively tabled, then. Richie and Seth start going at it, yelling about deposits and gun caches and whatever else, while Kate slinks down in her seat with a sigh of relief. Christ, she didn't know _what_ she'd do with Seth walking around like he does, knowing about her and Richie—whatever they were.

Not that she knew any better than Seth did, really. It’s been a week since they almost kissed, and Kate’s not any closer to an answer about what it means, what Richie wants. Or even better, what _she_ wants.

She’d waited at home for days, sure that she’d get the call from Seth— _what the fuck are you doing_? Maybe a lecture, or some kind of smug comment about the two of them. Just… anything, any kind of reaction.

But clearly, Richie’s kept quiet, even from his brother. And Kate can't understand why.

Peeking beneath the curtain of hair falling over her face, Kate can’t help but glance over at Richie. She’s been that doing that _way_ too much now: watching Richie, searching for—something. Some solution, some insight into him.

But he’s focused elsewhere, still bickering with Seth. Same as always. Kate’s starting to think that’s not a comfort anymore.

-

It’s their fifth job in however many months, and Kate doesn’t bother stressing. With Vanessa on board, Seth’s meticulous planning, and Richie’s—well, Richie-ness, everything always goes exactly as planned. Like normal, Kate waits out in the car as the three of them make their way into the bank, drumming her fingers on the wheel to keep herself occupied.

She still can’t find it in herself to enjoy the essence of this, when all is said and done. After a few more moments of silence, gunshots ring from inside, followed by a wave of panicked screaming, and just barely, Kate can make out Seth’s rush of commands. Sometimes Kate thinks about how easily she could be on the opposite side of it: hands and knees pressing hard on the tile of the floor, a gun to the back of her head, her father clutching her hand close by. She had been all of those people once, too.

Decidedly, Kate cranks the volume up in her headphones loud enough to drown out the screaming. Lately it seems like half her job is remembering that she isn’t those people anymore. Never will be again.

It’s only a few minutes before the three of them are sprinting out the back door and into the alley where Kate’s waiting. They’d canvassed the area before: no cameras, and three different alleyway exits for Kate to pick through. Perfectly planned, yet again.

Richie looks particularly smug when he rips off his mask, tilting back in the passenger seat with all the ease in the world. Kate simply rolls her eyes, ignoring Seth and Vanessa’s nitpicking in the backseat, before shooting them off onto the road. It’s routine now, the escape plan.

Without missing a beat, Kate skids past an SUV and runs straight through a red light. It only takes a few turns to lose the few cops that already had picked up their tail, though she does show off with a full 360 turn, forcing the cops to spiral and stall out. Seth and Richie are unbothered by the whole thing, having lived through enough of her driving in the last year. Vanessa still shouts expletives from the back at every sudden turn, and Kate can’t really blame her—if it was anyone else at the wheel, they’d probably be dead.

Then, in the blink of eye, it all goes wrong.

A SWAT van screeches into the lane beside them out of nowhere, nearly pushing them off the road into a ditch. They all don their masks quickly to avoid being identified through the windows, Richie pulling Kate’s over her head as she attempts to swerve out of the van’s way.

Then there’s more vans, what seems like _dozens_ more. Kate just barely manages to skid up a highway entrance ramp and escape the blockade, itching close to 150. There’s more waiting on the highway, anticipating her escape. She swears under her breath.

“Someone tipped them off,” Richie growls from beside her, slamming his hand on the dashboard.

“No shit,” Seth snaps. Quickly, he turns to shoot out the window, ducking as gunfire erupts from around them.

Kate doesn’t think about any of that. Can’t. It doesn’t matter who tipped them off, only how the fuck she’ll get them out of it. And she _will_.

-

And, of course, she does.

By the end of the whole fucking debacle, they’ve almost died twice, the whole city police force is out for blood, and Vanessa’s got a nasty wound from where a bullet shot through her shoulder. Kate’s playlist had made it to its second loop before she finally pulled them into safety—some car shop Seth paid off. By the end of the hour, their ride will be on the way to the dumpster, crushed into a ball of metal. Untraceable.

The rest, Kate has no clue about.

“I’m taking Ness over to Freddie’s,” Seth says. His arm is slung around Vanessa’s waist, who’s starting to look deathly pale. “Get her patched up before she loses any more blood.”

Richie nods, glances down at Kate; her eyes are still glued to the road outside. There’s no guarantee they haven’t been traced here, and even though the chances of getting followed back to her apartment are slim, she’s uneasy.

“I don’t want them sniffing out where I live,” she finally says, turning to Seth. “I’ll sleep at the office tonight. Just to be safe.”

Seth starts shaking his head before Kate’s even finished. “Shit idea, princess. Whoever ratted us out must know by now that we’re alive—or at the very least, not thrown in jail. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re staking out the office right now to finish us off.”

“We’re fucked anyways if we don’t find out who did this, and soon,” Vanessa says. “Who else knew about the plan?”

“Just us, and the guys we planned on turning the bills over too.” Seth frowns. “It was an airtight deal—the money for the guns. But it wouldn’t surprise me if they had a rat.”

“But why sell us out?” Richie asks. “This deal was almost better for them than us. It doesn't make any sense.”

“A grudge, maybe. It’s not like we haven’t pissed off enough people,” Seth replies.

This, they let stew for a beat before Vanessa clutches at her shoulder, biting back a groan. “Seth.”

He flinches, concern written in the furrow of his eyebrows as he looks Vanessa over. "We’ll figure out the rest tomorrow. Let's just get out of here.”

Glancing back at the road, Kate sighs. Better at home with the cops than dead at the office. "I'll just—"

“You should sleep over at our place, Baby,” Richie says suddenly. She nearly gives herself whiplash turning back to him. “It’s safe. I can count on one hand the people who know where it is—and that’s including all four of us here.”

Seth shrugs, already helping Vanessa to the back door. “Fine with me. Just stay out of my shit.” Kate wants to shoot back that she doesn’t care about his shit, but they’ve had a hard enough day. Fighting seems pointless.

Still unsure about the whole thing, Kate drags her hand through her hair, too nervous to meet Richie's eyes. “I don’t know. I—Is this the best idea?”

“We can take the scenic route to be safe, but you’d know if we were getting followed.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she whispers, gaze finding the ground.

There’s a long pause, in which Kate considers crawling down into a hole and dying there.

“I know,” Richie finally says, soft. “You don’t have to be scared of me. I won’t… I’m not gonna try anything.”

Kate shakes her head roughly, frustrated. “I’m not scared of _you_.”

“Then what are you scared of?”

That, she doesn’t have an answer for.

-

The Gecko guest room is an impressive thing, Kate thinks. It’s almost twice as big as her own bedroom, which isn’t much of a surprise, considering her apartment is a total shithole. (Not that she really minds it. Anonymity is a good thing in this line of business. Better than wasting all her money holed up in some luxury condo, or wherever it is other uber-rich criminals live.)

Just for the fun of it, Kate bounces around on the fancy mattress for a bit, exhaustion giving way to giddiness. She can hear Richie padding between his own room and the kitchen, muttering to someone over the phone. It's a weird thrill again, being so close to him in his own house.

Restless, Kate eventually wanders to the bathroom to check herself over in the mirror. Her hair is still in disarray from the drive, dark circles deepened under her eyes. She frowns at herself. It wasn't often she felt old or weary like the boys did, but looking at herself, she could see the changes. The exhaustion.

Even so, it's hard to ignore the good changes, too. Her cheeks have long lost that hallowed, empty look, helping the rest of her face fill out a bit more. It gives her that experienced, mature look rather than a cynical one, reminds her again that she's just pushing twenty-two in a few months.

There's also something different in her eyes—aliveness, maybe. An inch of brightness that seems to grow every day she's with the Geckos.

The thought makes her laugh aloud. Sometimes, it's still impossible to believe this is the life she lives—that this is the girl she's become. Not Kate Fuller, daughter to a pastor and the most wholesome family on the block. Not Katie-cakes, the girl who only touched boys above the belt and let them kiss her cheek goodnight. Just Baby, who can barely remember the sound of her parents' voices.

When her mother died, there were flocks of casseroles at their door for months, people showing up at all hours of the day to console her father and pat the kids on the head. She'd thought she knew loss, then; knew what it was like to have the whole world fall apart. She hadn't known anything, really.

It's different when her dad and Scott die. No one comes visiting at the hospital, except for the social worker and the police. Eventually they stop trying so hard when they realize she has nothing to say. It's easy enough to ship her off to a waiting family, and then another one, and then another. They don't care much when she slips out at night, or when her ribs starts peeking out from her shirts. They only care when they catch her behind the wheel of their neighbor's car. And then comes the yelling, and the hitting, and the locked doors.

In all of that, not once did anyone she knew pay any attention. All those families that held her shoulder at the funeral, promising she wouldn't be alone. All those friends whose lawns she played on as kids, who giggled and laughed with her in the pews on Sundays. All the wives and husbands who cried for her losses but turned away when she begged at their doors for help.

Between everyone—between all the people who had once defined her life—it was the _Gecko_ brothers who dragged her off the street and fed her, who helped her survive it. Two men who had no good reason trusting her with their names, let alone their lives. And now, she's helping them rob the whole country blind.

It is absolutely, unbelievably fucking ridiculous. But it's the truth.

And the truth is also this: staring at the mirror, examining the full lines of her face and the waspy nest of her hair, Kate knows exactly what she wants. She wants Baby to be real. Not a disguise, not a phase; not a costume to wear when her confidence is riding high and the adrenaline even higher. She wants it to mean something.

Every day, Kate wonders when she'll walk into the office and find it empty, Seth and Richie and Vanessa gone without a word. Each drive is a test, a way for her to prove they're better off with her than without her. Yet the reality has always been the opposite, because Kate Fuller is nothing without this. She’s nobody at all. And she’s so goddamn tired of it.

Richie's voice raises in the hallway, barking something particularly curt over the phone. Yes, she thinks, turning away from the mirror. Kate knows what she wants. It's just the facing it that's the hard part.

-

It's somewhere between 2 and 3 AM that Kate comes to peace with not sleeping.

She paces the room for awhile, trying to wear herself out, but only manages to rattle her own nerves. There’s a TV in the room, so she tries that, too, but nothing captures her attention long enough to be useful.

There’s been almost no sound from outside her door, so she figures Richie's asleep, which both disappoints and relieves her. Vanessa and Seth don't reappear, either, which means they must've spent the night over at Freddie's.

The deliriousness around 4 AM is almost enough make her start praying for Vanessa’s shoulder, and Seth’s ability to figure this mess out, and all of their lives, but she can’t bring herself to do it. Can’t even get her knees on the floor without shaking. This starts another round of pacing.

Finally, she resolves herself to go find a snack, more and more desperate to escape her ridiculously, annoyingly fancy room. Really, Seth can’t mind her eating just a _little_ bit of their food. And even if he does, she saved his life enough today that he can just consider it payment.

As she opens her door to sneak down toward the kitchen, she's startled by the light already flooding the hallway. Richie’s still up. The door to his office is swung wide open, and she can hear the tapping of his fingers on a keyboard, filling up the silent house.

She almost dashes back into her room, wondering if he’s heard her. But she can’t stop thinking of it, suddenly—what she wants. What she’s been waiting for.

It takes almost a full five minutes for her to gather up enough courage not to run and hide. Armed with a long, deep breath and nothing else, Kate walks over to the entrance of his office and steps in.

He’s hunched behind his desk, half-hidden by his computer and a few tall stacks of paper. It'd be a funny image if she weren't so drop-dead serious.

Whatever's on the screen has got his attention; he doesn't notice her there, watching him. With a sigh, Richie tugs a hand through his hair, glasses askew on his face. She's seen him like this before, knows the way stress looks on him.

This gets her another step in the room, clearing her throat. He straightens up when he finally notices her.

“Baby,” Richie says, voice gruff with exhaustion. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not really.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

He’s wary. It's easy to read in the tense line of his shoulders, the straight, angry line of his eyebrows. He frowns a little as he scans her, and as always, she wonders what he’s thinking of. What he sees when he looks at her like that. She wonders, too, what exactly he's so wary of.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

She shakes her head, feels the slow beat of her heart pick up in her chest. If only he knew.

Before he can say anything more, too afraid of losing her nerve, Kate moves farther in the room, walking around his desk to stand beside him. He watches her carefully from where he sits, turns in his chair to face her with raised eyebrows. Like this, they’re almost eye-to-eye, putting them on some kind of equal playing field. His hands nearly skim the denim of her jeans.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” she says, so quietly it's a wonder if he can hear her.

“What is it?”

Kate takes a deep breath, catching her lip between her teeth. Then, before she can second guess herself, she draws herself onto his lap.

It’s a simple thing, really—her thighs bracketing his, her hands moving to balance herself on the back of the chair. It’s just big enough to fit them both, though it creaks at the extra weight, rocking just slightly. Her chest brushes against his in a way that makes her breath hiccup.

As if he expected this, anticipating her yet again, Richie moves in tandem; he steadies her with his hands at her hips in one smooth motion. Gently, his thumb caresses an exposed patch of skin on her side, like he’s done it a million times before. Like he's waiting to touch her somewhere else. She shivers. Every part of her's begun buzzing with excitement, impulse. She wants to dig into him, encompass herself in the warmth and smell and taste of Richard Gecko. There'd been so many different ways she thought of him like this in the last week, wondered what the reality would be like.

Tantalizingly slow, Kate drinks him in, skimming her lips against the shell of his ear. There, the leftover scent of gunpowder mixes with the clean scent of his soap, bitter and fresh. 

“Kate,” she says in a whisper. “My name is Kate.”

She feels his hands travel up the length of her spine, exploring her gently. When she moves back to look at his face, to see whatever reaction he might have, he moves to capture her lips with his own.

It’s the first kiss of Kate’s new life—not a simple peck at the back of an empty church, but an all-consuming desire, an essential need that must be filled. Richie kisses her like he’s starving for it, hand tangled in her hair, arm wrapped around the whole of her body. She tastes a hint of blood on his lip, and she licks into it, bites down where the wound is. He only pulls her closer, devours her in the way she yearns to devour him.

At some point, when nearly all the oxygen has left her brain, she pulls back with a gasp. She feels his mouth move to her pulse-point, nipping at the skin, and shivers again in his arms.

“Kate,” he says, forming a prayer at the exposed line of her neck.

She tells him, “Now you know,” though it feels unnecessary. She’s still trying to catch her breath.

Slowly, Richie tilts her head back down for another kiss, a finger crooked in the loop of her jeans. They kiss for what feels like eternity, until her lips are bruised and his mouth is swollen to hell and they’re both lightheaded. It is only then that he pulls back, looks at her, and nods: “Now I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaand there's part 2. it's crazy how much motivation i got after hearing from you guys! this story is expanding all on its own.
> 
> please let me know if you like where this is going :-) there's a really good chance this will go past 3 chapters if it keeps heading on this trajectory. i'd love to hear your thoughts on kate in this world, her relationship with richie, and whatever else interests you. thank you so much for reading!


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